TOW the Sniffles
by Captain Crunk
Summary: At the tender young age of nine Monica Geller decided she didn't like getting sick. So she stopped entirely. Meaning she isn't ill now. Nope, not unwell in the least bit. And since she isn't sick, she doesn't need to be taken care of... yet is. Mondler.


Disclaimer: I don't own Friends, any of the Friends, the copyright to Friends… nothing.

Sick.

If it was possible to truly hate a word, Monica Geller hated the word 'sick'. It just sounded so icky, looked so weak and small and useless. She hated being so ill (another nasty word) that her nasal passages swelled with mucus (which sounded positively disgusting, and worse, messy) and everything hurt from the added pressure. Her eyeballs themselves felt sore, along with the rest of her body. She sounded like a moron, she struggled up stairs, she got pitying looks from friends…

If one wasn't allowed to hate the word sick, she at the very least hated _being_ sick.

That's why when she woke up Thursday morning she closed her eyes and prayed that she was dreaming, that she wasn't really congested, that the dull ache going through her muscles was just a fantasy.

It took a few seconds without going away before she finally propped herself up in bed and decided to pinch herself- she couldn't take the anticipation from this nightmare, she had to know. As she prepared to pinch herself, she let loose a mighty sneeze sending her head back and right into the headboard.

That pain was real.

Monica groaned and rubbed her head, which now had the distinction of hurting more than the rest of her body. She slowly rolled off to the side and planted her feet on the floor, quickly withdrawing from its coldness that seemed more pronounced today than others. She slid over on the edge of the bed and slipped on a pair of slippers before getting out of bed.

Slowly and gingerly, she padded her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair quickly before glancing at the small clock in there reading 7:45. She had slept late without knowing it- she woke up 7:30 every day for the past eight years without an alarm- and soon Joey and then Chandler would be in and looking for breakfast. For once in the last four years she was in no particular mood to make breakfast but she ventured in to the cold kitchen- then back to her bedroom for a robe, and again back to the kitchen- and heated up the stove.

She decided on pancakes and sausage, except she'd have to use the pre-made batter this time, which she wasn't crazy about, but would have to do. She quietly maneuvered, trying not to wake Rachel up (although short of causing an avalanche, she wouldn't), and, deciding that mixing the pancake batter would be difficult with her arms feeling weighed down by sandbags, opted to grab the toaster and make some English muffins instead.

Monica decided to get some warmer clothes on than her flimsy pajamas and thin robe, so she retreated to her bedroom while all of the food was cooking to get sweatpants and a heavy wool sweater on. Feeling cozier but still uncomfortable she went back into the kitchen, noticing that a few sausages and English muffins were gone, a knife sticking sloppily out of the jam jar and the butter left open on the table. Vaguely remembering Joey mentioning something about an early audition, tidied up and grabbed some food for herself before putting on some coffee and taking a seat on the couch.

Chandler was the next one in, dressed for work and in a bit of a hurry. He bustled around and wished Monica a good morning, but when she returned his greeting with a nasally mumble he stopped and went to sit next to her on the couch.

Placing his hand over hers he asked softly, "Is everything alright? You don't sound so good."

She shook her head- painfully, causing her to wince slightly- and brushed him off. "No, no, it's nothing, I'm fine-_d_"

Chandler shook his head and smiled slightly at her cute resilience. "Monica, are you sick?" he asked playfully, already knowing the answer.

She glared at him for his lighthearted mocking and pouted, unwilling to give in. "No, I'm nod sick. I'm fine_-d_, really. I don'd ged sick."

He still wasn't buying it and said, "Well I'm certainly hoping you are. If not, then you sound all nasally like Janice for no explainable reason, and that _kinda_ scares me."

Growing mildly annoyed at his good-humored prodding she quickly moved to stand up off of the couch but just as she rose she felt herself get suddenly light-headed her legs began to shake, leading her to fall straight into Chandler's lap. Surprised he quickly wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from bouncing off and onto the floor and held her there for a moment. Monica's pale face (which had gotten even paler from the illness) grew suddenly flushed and red as she had just made a fool of herself, though she wasn't altogether uncomfortable.

Chandler's slight chuckle after he regained his composure caused her to turn around in his lap and slap him on the chest, which he didn't seem to completely mind. He smirked at her predicament, saying "You know, maybe this whole not sick thing isn't so bad. I mean, the congestion may be a problem, but the 'you falling in my lap' symptom I think I can live with."

Monica couldn't really help it; despite all of the aching and sniffles, he still managed to make her smile. "Fine, maybe I am a little sick," she conceded, "So I think I'll get some bed rest in."

Before she could move to get off of him, Chandler hooked an arm under her knees and kept one behind her back and with a deep, fake-masculine voice he said, "Allow me to help you with that," and slowly began to stand up. He was never that strong, but Monica was extremely light and, careful to avoid door frames and her wriggling protests to put her down, he walked into her bedroom and dropped her on the sheets.

Monica crawled under the sheets while Chandler tucked her in and sat on the bed next to her, brushing the hair away from her face with a gentle touch. He bent down and kissed her forehead before recoiling slightly, saying, "Hey, quite the fever you have there. That whole 'sick' theory is looking more and more believable. You should probably stay home from work today, so just sit tight while I get you a thermometer."

He moved to get up while she weakly supplied, "I don't have work today." When he returned she then asked him, "But don't you have to be at work in a few minutes?"

With a shake of his head Chandler brushed off the question. "Nah, it's alright, I have plenty of time off to use up. Open up, and under your tongue," he said, stifling what he knew were going to be her protesting that she was fine and he could go to work. Truth be told he didn't have any more desire to go in than he usually did, which, suffice to say, wasn't terribly much at all.

He stared at his wristwatch on and off for the two minutes the thermometer took before tugging it gently from under her tongue. "Well, I can't tell exactly, but either you have a fever or your body temperature is getting dangerously low and I can be expecting you to change into a popsicle shortly. Either way, it's pretty far from 98.6," he said, squinting at the thin glass veil in his hand with the completely impossible to read numbers.

"Having trouble there?" she began rhetorically, adding, "Because I know this ophthalmologist…"

He slapped at her covered arm and began to put the thermometer away. "I'm not the one in need of a doctor, you are," he returned, adding, "And nothing is wrong with my eyesight, _you_ just have a difficult thermometer." Despite the ribbing, it was good to see that Monica had moved past Richard enough to joke about him.

Monica, not one to take a slight (even against her admittedly annoying thermometer) was quick to get defensive. "Hey! I'll have you know that there's nothing wrong with it. I don't even know why you got it out, I'm not-" she was cut off here by her own hacking cough, leading her to weakly finish- "even sick."

Always one to be amused by her resilient spirit, he gave her a smile and said, "Of course you aren't Mon, that was just one hell of a hairball. Now I'm going to turn the light off and I want you to get some rest while I go make some tea, alright?" By now she was absorbed in another fit of coughing and her only response was a weak nod which he accepted before switching the lights off and leaving her in peace.

Placing the thermometer back in the medicine cabinet he returned to the kitchen to begin boiling water when Rachel groggily stumbled out of her bedroom. The very antithesis of a morning person, she grumbled a greeting before sitting down and beginning to eat. After half a cup of coffee she was up to the task of talking and with all of the pleasantness of a recently roused bear asked Chandler, "Aren't you supposed to be at work or something?"

By now fairly accustomed to Rachel's morning lack of courtesy, Chandler took no offense and merely answered, "Good morning to you too sunshine. Anyway, Monica is sick- don't tell her though- and I figured I'd take the day off from work and help take care of her."

Rachel had finished her coffee and an English muffin before she bothered responding, "Why? She'll be fine. I can check up on her during my lunch break, and Joey should be back right after that. I think she can make it a few hours alone."

Chandler shrugged, saying "Well, yeah, but its no problem really. Now I know the Justice League personally asked me to finish the Biermeister project, but I think the whole 'entering numbers into a spreadsheet' thing can wait another day." Truth be told, Monica would be fine on her own for the rest of the morning, and Chandler knew it. He wasn't exactly positive why he was staying, in fact, but he was sure that he wanted to stay.

Rachel, however, seemed to have quite a good idea of what was going on. Her demeanor suddenly turned completely around as she got a bright look in her eyes- a look Chandler knew all too well, and knew could never be a good sign- and said in a sweeter voice than he would've thought possible for her at this time in the morning "Oh, I see what's going on Doctor Bing."

Chandler, completely thrown off by the sudden complete 180 turn in her attitude, mimicked her saccharine sweet voice and asked, "Oh? So what exactly is going on then?"

Rachel giggled it off and slapped lightly at his shoulder. "Oh, now don't you worry. Tell you what; I'll take a late lunch and go grab a bite uptown with Joey, and you can spend all day taking care of Monica." And leaving a very much confused Chandler in her wake, she took off for the shower with a bit of a happy bounce in her step.

If Chandler didn't know better, he'd take Rachel's subtle hints- and slightly more obvious ones- to mean that it looked like he wanted to spend the day taking care of Monica because he wanted to for a more loving reason than their friendship. Which was just silly, really. He was her annoying friend Chandler; the last time he did something for her health, it was peeing on her leg.

Remembering the memory, Chandler shuddered, hoping that no urine would be involved this time.

But this was just a friendship thing; Monica had taken care of all of them when they were sick at one point or another, be it making Joey chicken soup while he was sick or rubbing Rachel's feet when she was on her feet being a tour guide for her cousin all day or always having Motrin in her purse whenever he himself had a bad headache from work. He was just returning the favor. That's what friends did.

That's what friends did.

And with that line in his head, he went on to make the tea.


End file.
